Monstrous Regiment

better!”
    “Better? Whose side is he on?”
    “Bit of a puzzler, really. He comes from Ankh-Morpork, but he’s not exactly on their side. Er…Otto Chriek, who makes the pictures for him—”
    “The vampire? He crumbled to dust when the light flashed!” said Polly. “Then he…came back!”
    “Well, I was standing behind Carborundum at the time,” said Maladict, “but I know the technique. He probably carries a thin glass vial of b…bl…blur…no, wait, I cansay this… blood .” He sighed. “There! No problem. A thin vial of…what I said…which smashed on the ground and brought the dust back to life again. It’s a great idea.” Maladict gave them a wan smile. “I think he really cares a lot about what he does, you know. Anyway, he told me de Worde just tries to find out the truth. And then he writes it down and sells it to anyone who wants it.”
    “And people let him do that?” said Polly.
    “Apparently. Otto says he makes Commander Vimes livid with rage about once a week, but nothing ever happens.”
    “Vimes? The Butcher?” said Polly.
    “He’s a duke, Otto says. But not like ours. Otto says he’s never seen him butcher anybody. Otto’s a Black Ribboner, like me. He wouldn’t lie to a fellow Ribboner. And he says that picture he took is going on the clacks from the nearest tower tonight! It will be in the paper of news tomorrow! And they print a copy here!”
    “How can you send a picture on the clacks?” said Polly. “I know people who’ve seen them. It’s just a lot of boxes on a tower that go clack-clack!”
    “Ah, Otto explained that to me, too,” said Maladict. “It’s very ingenious.”
    “How does it work, then?”
    “Oh, I didn’t understand what he said. It was all about…numbers. But it certainly sounded very clever. Anyway, de Worde just told the lieu—the rupert that news about a bunch of boys beating up experienced soldiers would certainly make people sit up and take notice!”
    The squad looked at one another sheepishly.
    “It was a bit of a fluke, and anyway we had Carborundum,” said Tonker.
    “And I used trickery,” said Polly. “I mean, I couldn’t do it twice.”
    “So what?” said Maladict. “We did it. The squad did it! Next time we’ll do it differently!”
    “Yeah!” said Tonker. And there was a shared moment of exhilaration in which they were capable of anything. It lasted all of…a moment.
    “But it won’t work,” said Shufti. “We’ve just been lucky. You know it won’t work, Maladict. You all know it won’t work, right?”
    “Well, I’m not saying we could, you know, take on a regiment all at once,” said Maladict. “And the lieu—rupert might be a bit wet. But we could help make a difference. Old Jackrum knows what he’s doing—”
    “Upon my oath, I am not a violent man…whack!” sniggered Tonker, and there were a few…yes, giggles, they were giggles, Polly knew, from the squad.
    “No, you’re not,” said Shufti flatly. “None of us are, right? Because we’re girls.”
    There was a dead silence.
    “Well, not Carborundum and Ozzer, okay,” Shufti went on, as if the silence was sucking unwilling words out of her. “And I’m not sure about Maladict and Igor. But I know the rest of us are, right? I’ve got eyes, I’ve got ears, I’ve got a brain. Right?”
    In the silence, there was the slow rumble that preceded a pronouncement from Carborundum.
    “If it any help,” she said, in a voice suddenly more sandy that gravelly, “my real name’s Jade.”
    Polly felt questing eyes boring into her. She was embarrassed, of course. But not for the obvious reason. It was for the other one, the little lesson that life sometimes rams home with a stick: you are not the only one watching the world, other people are also people, while you watch them they watch you, and they think about you while you think about them. The world isn’t just about you.
    There was going to be no possibility of getting out of this. And, in a way, it was a relief.
    “Polly,” she said, almost in a whisper.
    She looked questioningly at Maladict, who smiled in a distinctly noncommittal way.
    “Is this the time?” he said.
    “All right, you lot, what’re you standing about for?” bawled Jackrum six inches from the back of Maladict’s head. No one saw him arrive there; he moved with an NCO’s stealth, which sometimes mystifies even Igors.
    Maladict’s smile didn’t change.
    “Why, we’re awaiting your orders, Sergeant,” he